


I Will Learn to Let You Go

by Lifeinahole



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: (but then not really), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, F/M, So much angst, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:35:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8613058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lifeinahole/pseuds/Lifeinahole
Summary: Killian Jones, having lost his own soulmate years before, spends his free time finding the soulmates of other people. It’s what he’s good at, and he gets paid well to do it. Finding the soulmate of his latest client may prove to be the worst job he’s ever taken on, though. It’s not because Emma Swan is hard to find, but because he finds himself falling in love with her.





	1. Chapter 1

Graham Humbert looks like the kind of guy that even if Killian tried to hate, he would never fully succeed. He’s well-dressed, with enough money that makes him the perfect ticket for the Lonely Hearts Club Detective Agency – a PI office with specific designs on finding soul mates for people.

Killian Jones once had a soul mate, but Milah died years ago, and he found solace in the uncanny ability he had to find other people’s soulmates, so he decided to turn it into a business. What better way to nurse a forever broken heart than to find the matches for other people to live happily ever after? Some days, the irony that he’s doing for others what he’ll never be able to do for himself again hits him right in the gut and he spends those nights at the bottom of a bottle of rum, locked away in his one-bedroom apartment above the office, hoping for sleep or numbness, whichever comes first.

But back to Graham Humbert, he’s an okay guy. He’s lonely, with a fortune from some settlement over a heart defect, willing to spend every last penny to find his other half if that’s what it takes. He walks into Killian’s office on a Friday, with nothing more than a name engraved on a metal card and a mark on his ribs in the shape of a Swan.

“Please help me find her,” Graham pleads as he leans forward in one of the chairs Killian keeps across from his desk in his sparsely decorated office. “I’ve gotten everything else I ever wanted out of this life, and now all I want is to finally settle down with the person I’m supposed to be with. Will you help me?”

Of course, Killian will help him. Who is he to turn down almost a year’s worth of income from one guy?

He fingers the edge of the card that Graham handed him, the name ‘Emma Swan’ engraved like he’s seen so many others before – like he saw Milah’s name on his own card, once upon a time. He scoffs at his own sentimental nature and throws the card on his desk. He has a preliminary search running on this Emma Swan, had it running the second Humbert left his office, and the rest can wait until tomorrow. There’s something about the look in this man’s lost eyes, the tremor in his voice, and the eight little letters that make up this lass’s name that has all tugged him the wrong way. Damn the paycheck, he’ll deal with it all in the morning.

For tonight, he has a date with his latest bottle of rum. He drinks to the Nolans, the ones who gifted this bottle to him for helping them find each other. He drinks to Graham Humbert. He drinks to Emma Swan. And he drinks to Milah as he forces himself to choke back the tears before he falls asleep on his couch for the fifth night in a row.

-x-

By Monday morning, Killian knows that Emma Swan is a bailbonds agent that works out of the Storybrooke precinct, that she’s hired out by different cities for her exceptional work at finding people (a woman after his own heart), that she’s a single mother (rare in this lifetime, as most only choose to procreate with their soulmates), and that she’s going to be a challenge. But that’s okay, Killian likes a challenge.

He sends a memo to Graham via email, letting him know that he’s already working on his case before packing a bag to visit this Storybrooke, located just a couple hours away. He doesn’t tell Graham where she is, yet. It’s part of his process, and he doesn’t want the good man to take away his money and attempt his own meet-cute. The response comes in just a few minutes later, telling Killian that he’s wired the money for his travel expenses into the company account and he wants Killian to find out as much as he possibly can about Emma so he’s prepared. The man tells him to take all the time he needs, which is really unwise to tell someone who likes money and happens to be spending yours.

There’s a part of Killian that feels sorry for the poor sap. Especially if this woman already has a kid, she’s not exactly the pristine soulmate connection that some might expect. Then again, in this day and age, hardly any of them ever are. Milah had been married with a child before she and Killian found each other. He sighs and finishes packing with a cloud hanging over his head, making sure to grab a fresh bottle of rum to pack into his suitcase in the event that this place is dry.

The drive to Storybrooke is beautiful, but it’s always a pleasure driving through the New England states during the autumn months. The leaves are in the middle of their perishing act, the reds outnumbering the greens, the yellows and oranges mixing it up, and Killian admires them as he drives with the windows cracked thanks to a bit of unseasonably warm weather.

Thanks to his GPS, he knows that he’s getting close when he passes the welcome sign. It’s a little off kilter, and as he slows he can see cracks in the foundation that have been hastily patched, but he shrugs and moves along. It’s still a mile or two into the town proper, but he’s utterly charmed when he finally reaches it. The whole thing carries that quaint sensation. It automatically speaks of knowing all the neighbors, and town-wide festivals where everyone has a part in the work. He’s going to stick out, and he wonders how long it’ll take for someone to single out the foreigner.

Instead of heading straight to the bed and breakfast where he’s booked a room, he spends a little extra time driving through town. Perhaps he should contact the Nolans while he’s here; they’ve been looking for a place to settle down away from Boston, and he’s pretty sure this is exactly what Snow had described as her ideal home on his exit-questionnaire. He adds it to his mental to-do list before he loses all thoughts of work. Ahead of him are the docks, and beyond that, the ocean.

He parks his car on the side of the road before he goes wandering, ending up staring out at the smaller boats and a particularly beautiful tall ship that’s docked there. He itches to climb up into the rigging, see what the view’s like from the crow’s nest. Maybe he can find out who owns the boat while he’s here and procure a tour of it.

“Excuse me, that your car parked on the road up there?”

With one last glance at the ship, Killian turns towards the voice that’s pulling at his attention. “Apologies, lass,” Killian says when he turns and sees the woman standing several yards away. “I just stopped for a moment.”

She moves closer, suspicion in her eyes and a badge clipped to her belt. Other than that, she’s wearing no recognizable uniform, instead dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, her hair falling around her face and over her shoulders.

Despite his line of work, and his past, Killian feels his heart stutter to life again. Outwardly, she’s one of beauty. Her hard green eyes tell him about a life of pain, and her stance speaks volumes of the woman who doesn’t take lip from anyone.

“Visiting?” she asks, her tone clipped and still laden with curiosity.

“Aye,” he replies with an easy smile. “Up from Boston for a couple days. Maybe a week if I haven’t found what I’m looking for before that.”

“And what is it you’re looking for?” She tilts her head to one side as she questions him, a hint of humor peeking through.

“A soulmate,” he tells her plainly. He’s not even surprised when she laughs. It’s something he’s very much used to in his line of work.  “It’s my job,” he further explains. The ninety-nine percent success rate of his business is no laughing matter, and he tells her so.

“Okay, Romeo. Who are you looking for?”

“Ah, that is confidential information, I’m afraid. But I’ll call upon your services if I need them, if it pleases you Sheriff…”

“Not actually the sheriff. Just filling in until they find someone else to take over the job. We’ve had some bad luck keeping anyone in the seat long enough because they keep running off to find their soulmates.” She gives him a pointed look at that, clearly displaying more of why she’s so critical of his line of work.

He ambles a little closer, just far enough away to not invade her personal space but close enough that he can tell she wears a subtle perfume that makes him want to sway even further into her bubble. As if reading his thoughts, she crosses her arms over her chest with a haughty look on her face.

“I was just thinking how I should tell friends of mine about this location, but maybe even more so now that I know you’re looking for law enforcement. Maybe I’ll tell David to give your office a call, miss…”

“Listen, if you can get someone to even apply for the job, I’ll apologize for laughing at you earlier. Just make sure you move your car before I have it towed.”

“What is your name, love?” he finally asks outright. He’s never had to try so hard to get the name of a woman in all his life, and that includes during his awkward stages of puberty.

She turns as if to walk away, but looks at him again. She heaves out a sigh.

“First, I’m not your love. Second, I don’t tell my name to strangers,” she says, lobbying him with a challenging stare.

He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket to produce a card, holding it out but moving it out of range when she tries to grab it. “Killian Jones, at your service.”

“You’re at no service of mine, Jones.” She snatches the card from his fingers and takes a second to read it, scoffing and muttering the name before slipping it into her own pocket. She holds out her hand and he immediately takes it, has it halfway to his lips in a flirtatious gesture when she speaks her name, and it takes every ounce of control to continue the motion, kissing the back of her hand and adding in a little wink before letting go and wandering back towards his vehicle.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Swan. I hope to run into you again sometime while I’m here,” he gives her an unaffected smile before turning and walking with measured steps back to his car, even when his insides are already feeling the turmoil and anguish of being so bloody good at his job.

-x-

Despite the shock to his system, Killian manages to get a great deal of work done in the hour following his interaction with Emma.

He does, in fact, call the Nolans up after he’s settled into the B&B, telling Snow all that he knows about the quaint town of Storybrooke before the phone gets handed off to David. Killian gives him the details he knows just from what he was able to dig up on the internet about the sheriff position.

Having done his good deed for the day, which constitutes anything he’s not being paid to do, he wanders down into the diner attached to his lodgings and sits at the counter to observe.

Small towns are hit or miss with his services. Either everyone has already found their matches in or outside the perimeters and he’s lucky if he can find two dogs to match away, or they’re all so stubborn that they’ve paired with whoever they could tolerate for longer than five minutes out of spite. Those – those are his favorite small towns. He can charge a small, out-of-pocket fee and spend weeks in one location just raking it in. Usually, by the end of one day of matching, he’s inundated with phone calls and soulmate cards. If Cupid had charged a nominal fee, maybe the idea of love outside of soulmates would’ve persisted.

He hasn’t gotten a good read on this town, yet; he’s only been here a matter of hours, but he does discover after his third cup of coffee that there’s at least some money to be made. There are enough lonely eyes in the diner that he’s sure to find the match of at least one.

The server, a leggy brunette with red streaks in her hair, hides her pain behind bright red lipstick and bombshell eye makeup. The older woman, the owner of both the diner and the bed & breakfast, looks out at the world that visits her establishment with eyes of one who has lost in her life. There’s a young woman counting pennies and shooting glances at a young man doing the same from a few booths away. He’s willing to bet the two of them have matching marks but something is hindering the process.

There’s a young lad, maybe ten or eleven sitting to his left reading a large volume of fairytales, and he marvels at the whimsy of it all. To be young and impressionable once again, to believe that Prince Charming can come riding in on his horse at any minute and sweep the princess off her feet is downright fantasy now. No one will find that, unless he comes with a mark and a card with a soulmate’s name on it.

The boy catches him glancing and smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he tells Killian, “I know they’re all made up. I’m just using this for inspiration. I’m gonna be a writer someday.”

The words he speaks are far beyond those Killian would expect from one so young, and he is already curious as to how the boy could hold this perspective. But he didn’t come here to sort out the mind of a child. He came here to secure the heart of Emma Swan for someone else. But engaging the boy in conversation certainly couldn’t hurt.

“You’re quite sure of your path, aren’t you lad?”

The boy nods, and sticks out his hand. “Henry Mills. What’s your story, mister?”

“Killian Jones,” he says as he takes Henry’s hand. “And my tale belongs in no storybooks. I’m a detective of sorts.”

“Cool! A detective? Do you investigate crimes? Are you here to help my mom solve a case?” He lowers his voice with a quick glance around. “Did someone die? Mom never shares the fun stuff with me.”

His confusion and growing suspicions as to who he’s just run into are confirmed when none other than Emma walks through the door not a moment later.

“Henry, what did I tell you about talking to strangers?”

“This isn’t a stranger, mom. It’s Killian.” The boy states it so matter-of-fact that she can do little else than turn to stare at him.

“Oh, well, I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon,” she says when she turns and notices that it is, indeed, him sitting next to her son. This doesn’t seem like a good thing, what with her guarded tone and her hand on Henry’s shoulder just bordering on protective.

He knows the feeling, his earlier settled demeanor is quickly being replaced with chagrin.

“I did say I was staying a little while, and there’s only one locale for guests in town, Swan.” He turns on his most pragmatic smile. He wishes to ask about the clear difference in last names, and where Henry’s father is, but it’s far too soon for such questions or conversations, so he seals his lips and waits to see what will happen next.

“Right. Well, see you around. Again.” She turns her full attention to Henry as she ushers him off the stool and towards the door. “I was thinking pizza. Maybe ice cream, if you’re lucky.”

Henry’s whoop of excitement, even a few feet away, causes him to jolt, but he finds the smile on his face is genuine as he watches the two exit the diner. Emma turns at the last second to give him a little wave before just before she lets the door shut behind her.

Perhaps he should email Graham and demand more money. Or give it all back and just go home immediately. This may just shape up to be the worst case he’s even taken on, and he once paired up his soulmate’s ex-husband with the man’s real soulmate, back in the day.

-x-

The news that Killian is in the business of finding soulmates travels faster than he would’ve imagined. It takes just a few well-placed conversations in the diner and suddenly, every time he’s in the establishment for a meal, someone is approaching him with a hopeful look in their eyes and a card in their hands.

By his fourth day in town, he’s found the soulmates of six individuals. Thankfully, gossip of his track record means that the next time he sees Emma, she tilts her head in an impressed nod and a small smile peeks out at him, and he has to hope his ears aren’t blushing as he takes notes from a young woman named Ruby.

“For all I know, she may have gone to Kansas, but I need her back. If you just track her down, I’ll do the rest and still pay you.”

“Of course, Ms. Lucas. I’ll do my best. I’ll get back to you in a few days and see if this Dorothy can be located. You said she has a small wolf tattoo, aye?” From the corner of his eye, he sees Emma’s head whip around towards them, but he can barely shift his eyes to look before she’s looking away again.

“It’s a silhouette of one, yeah. On her hip, just like mine.” She shifts minimally to display the cyclone she has there, visible because of the less-than-conservative uniform she’s adopted for working in her grandmother’s diner. She confessed to him almost immediately that it’s only for the tips.

“I’ll contact you as soon as I know more,” he tells her, reaching out and placing his hand over where she’s clasped hers together in a tight grip. She does her best to smile, clearly working through some pain both from the running of her match and her own reactions to finding out it was the woman she saw for a long time as her opposition in this small town. He removes his hand, and watches as she stands from the booth and walks back around the counter of the diner and clocks back in. He observes as her grandmother, matriarch of many of the lost souls, puts a comforting arm around her granddaughter before moving back to filling Emma’s order.

With her coffee cup in hand, she comes over and slides into the booth across from Killian, tilting her head and considering him as if from a new angle.

“You’re the real deal, aren’t you?”

“Aye, that I am. You’ve got quite the skeptic living inside you if you find it hard to believe someone makes a living finding soulmates in such a world as this one.”

“When you’ve been knocked up and left behind, and incarcerated, it tends to happen.”

The words come out almost carefree, like it means nothing at all that this is something that happened to her. It explains a lot about where Henry’s father is, though, so he’s glad he didn’t ask.

“And because I know you’re curious about the last names, I gave Henry up for adoption. I was drawn here a year ago when Henry posted a fake ad for a bail skip on the websites I frequent. I have no idea how he figured out what I did. And when I ask he just says ‘lucky guess’ and moves on like it’s nothing.”

“It’s our bodies’ inherent need for those we were meant to be with,” he tells her, trying to adopt his own airy tone as if the very subject didn’t twist at his soul every time he tries to explain it. “Besides, what brings about this sharing of information? I figured it would be ages before I could even approach these questions.”

“Your friend, David Nolan, has successfully completed an application for the sheriff’s position. He’ll be getting a call from me soon about conducting a phone interview. And with that, I also came to say sorry for laughing in your face.”

She doesn’t give him the opportunity to say more. Instead, she gives him a slightly more genuine smile as she slips from the booth. Just before she reaches the door, she hesitates, and he expects her to turn back, but she shakes her head a little and keeps walking, disappearing into the midday world.

-x-

“Do you think my dad is my mom’s soulmate?”

Killian, whose head had been buried in the notes he took over the last couple days, almost jumps out of his skin at the intrusion. It’s late – not so late that he’s surprised to see Henry at the diner, but late enough that he’s a little curious as to why the boy is back. He’s used to seeing him in the afternoon, after school but before Emma gets out of work.

“Where is that lovely mum of yours, Henry? You’ve not left her all alone to come hang out with me, have you?” He pushes up his reading glasses where they’d slid down his nose, leveling Henry with a friendly look.

Henry chortles, almost snorting in the whipped cream from the hot chocolate that’s been placed in front of him. Ruby smiles and places one in front of him, as well, before walking away to take the order of an elderly man sitting by himself.

“Nah, my moms had a meeting or something.”

“Emma and your adoptive mother work together?”

“Sorta. Mom’s the mayor here. So they have to work together sometimes. They don’t hate each other anymore, so it’s better.”

The inclusion of ‘anymore’ on Henry’s statement makes Killian chuckle. Somehow, he’s not surprised that Emma butts heads with people on the regular. “Does your other mum have a soulmate?”

“I think that’s why they fight so much. They’re both lonely. They only each have me to love.” The boy takes a healthy sip from his hot chocolate, clearly looking like he’s gathering his words. “Killian? Could you find their soulmates? I can’t pay you. But I want them both to be happy, and it would mean so much to me.”

“I can uh,” he swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat at the boy’s impassioned speech, “I can do my best, Henry. I can do my best.” The last sentence is only a whisper, and he reaches for the hot chocolate he’s neglected up to this point just to hide the emotions that have just flooded through him.

“Henry,” Emma’s voice comes from the doorway. “Hi Killian,” she adds when she sees him. “I hope he hasn’t been bothering you too much.”

“Never a bother at all, Swan. Henry’s got quite the writer’s mind already. I would love to pick his brain whenever he’s here, if he doesn’t mind. And if you don’t mind, of course.” He gives her an innocent look, but the smirk on his lips says otherwise. He cannot help himself. There’s something about this woman that has driven him to flirt relentlessly whenever he’s compelled.

To his surprise, Emma’s foot bumps his under the table. He’d assume it an accident, but then she moves it ever so slightly, the toe of her boot dragging at the cuff of his jeans, as she looks between him and Henry. “He’s obsessed with fairytales. Maybe you can give him a story about finding soulmates that he can write about. It’s at least more realistic than those damsels in distress or whatever.” Her foot moves again before she moves it away at the end of her sentence, and she’s urging Henry to follow her out of the booth in another moment.

“Goodnight Swan. Henry.” He salutes them both with his mug and tries not to stare as they exit the building.

At the end of his second week in town, he’s matched three more couples in town. On top of that, he’s also located Ruby’s Dorothy and insisted she only pay the consultation fee since she would be doing the rest of the legwork. It’s surprisingly charitable, given his usual love of profit. And what money he does make goes back into the town, as he purchases more clothes over driving back to Boston for more. He has a feeling he'll be here longer than he originally thought.

The real surprise is how often he and Emma manage to spend a couple minutes together each day. Sometimes, it’s nothing more than a moment while she waits for her to-go order. He discovers a new favorite hobby of his in making her laugh. It takes patience, skill, and wit. And being able to gauge her mood in a matter of seconds to make a well-timed joke. Other times, she looks a little tired as she slides into the spot across from him and they chat for a while about nothing more substantial than the weather, but he thinks it helps her in some way.

In the middle of his third week in town, that’s what Emma looks like when she enters the diner, her shoulders slumping and her demeanor subdued. This is not a day for humor and harmless flirting. It takes him awhile to ask, wanting to give her the opportunity to explain her mood on her own, but he can’t stand the silence anymore, or the sadness emanating from her.

“Swan, may I ask if you’re all right?”

“You can ask, but I might not answer honestly.” The flippant words are spoken towards the window as she stares out. She’s propping her chin up in her hand as her eyes glaze unseeingly at the last of sunlight fading outside.

“You can answer whatever way you wish, love. But just know I’ll listen to whatever it is you share with me.”

She’s quiet for so long that he’s positive the conversation is over, that she’ll leave in another hour or two not having spoken another word, and that he’ll have to wait until the next time she graces him with her presence to hear her voice again. He’s back to working, then, when she surprises him and does speak.

“I get lonely on the nights when Henry is with Regina.”

“I think that’s an understandable feeling. I’m going to take a guess that you were mostly alone between the time of your release from prison and finding your way here, am I correct?” He only shares this insight because she so willingly shared her history with him. Even his searches on her didn’t mention the time she spent in jail.

She turns to look at him, letting her hand drop back to the table as her eyes meet his. There’s thinly veiled shock there, but also the only answer he needs. He slips his glasses off, abandoning the paperwork for a client that’s seeking him out in Boston. This (with _this_ being _Emma_ ) is, in his opinion, far more important than something he’ll return to when he resumes his life. It seems like years since he left Boston and he suddenly wants years before he returns.

“You’ve grown accustomed to having someone need you, in the short time you’ve gotten with Henry. But you’re upset because it’s not on your terms whether or not you get him extra time. So the nights when Regina overrules you, and outlines another night, it cuts deeper than if you or Henry were calling the shots.” Her eyes are still speaking for her, so there’s no need for him to ask if he’s correct this time.

“Regina has a soulmate,” Emma tells him instead of staying on topic. “I’ve seen the arrow on her collarbone.”

“Would you be able to find her card?” he asks, answering her own unasked question of if she wants him to pursue this.

“I don’t know where she keeps it. Maybe Henry would know. I know he goes through all of our stuff whenever we leave him alone. He probably knows us better than we know ourselves.” The affection in her voice is obvious.

“And what about you, Swan? Would you want me to find your soulmate?”

She takes her time with her answer, but he’s sure she had the response to his question the moment he finished asking it. “No.”

“If you ever change your mind, I know a guy.” He sits back, grinning at her, happy to lighten the mood and even happier to see some of her solemnity sliding away. 

“I wanted to hate you, when you showed up. I wanted to hate you and not trust you, and I wanted you as far away from me and my son as possible."

  
“What changed your mind, about me, Swan?”

Her hand is still resting on the table, and Killian barely thinks when he reaches out and brushes his fingers over hers. She looks down at their hands, swallowing her emotions with the breaking of eye contact, but she doesn’t pull away. She wets her lips, instead, which draws Killian’s gaze. He follows the tracing of her mouth, suddenly and selfishly wanting to outline it for himself, to dip into her mouth and taste from the forbidden fruit. He looks back to her eyes just as she looks back to his.

“The way you talk to Henry. Most men that try to get in my pants won’t even give him the time of day. There are some days I’m not sure if you like him or me more.”

“Who says I’m trying to get into your knickers?”

“Oh please, I’m not blind. But you couldn’t handle it.”

“Had I been trying, love, I assure you, you’re the one that wouldn’t be able to handle it.” His thumb swipes across her pulse point as he speaks.

They spend a minute staring each other down before she cracks a smile. “You’re trouble, Jones. So much trouble.”

“You need a little trouble in this town, Swan.” He takes his hand away, busying himself with organizing his papers while the tension between them dissipates. _Not tonight_ , he tells himself. _Not ever_ , is what he should be saying but not tonight. “For the record, though, I fancy you quite a bit. Your son is just a wonderful bonus that lights up my days.”

When she stands and leaves the diner for the evening, she runs her fingers along his arm and up to his shoulder as she passes by, wishing him a goodnight as she goes. He retires to his room shortly after, unable to shake the arousal she’s stirred in him.

-x-

They begin a dance after that, a complicated ritual not often seen when most people are only looking for the person they were meant to be with. And while everything in his brain tries to tell him why this is a bad idea, it takes just one look from Emma before his body overrules it and he’s letting the fire simmer away.

Hours are spent talking about nothing in particular, all while seeing which of them can affect the other more with hidden touches. Her favorite is to slide off those impractical booties she wears with snow on the ground and slide her stocking clad feet up and around his calves. One bold day, she places her foot on the vinyl seat of the booth between his legs. It inches closer to his crotch with every minute they chat, and he’s just about to invite her back to his room when Ruby swings by, telling him all about her preparations to go find Dorothy. In the midst of her talking, Emma slides her foot away and back into her boot, sliding out of the booth and giving them both quick farewells before she’s back out into the blustery weather.

She stops in for coffee one day during his fifth week in town, and he can tell that it must be a day without Henry because she lingers a few extra minutes for her lunch break.

“Will you be back for dinner tonight, Swan?”

“Maybe. You paying?”

“Gladly.” He wants to reach out and touch her, but there are too many eyes already looking at them with suspicion. The long-term guest looking for soulmates and the closed-off sheriff are high topics of conversation, and he knows that during the daytime, they run a mile with whatever inches he and Emma accidentally hand out. He manages to keep his hands to himself and say everything he wants with his eyes, instead.

She returns to the diner as he’s just finishing up an email to Graham. The man had asked for an update as to how Killian’s search was going, and it took him much longer than he’d care to admit to craft his response. ‘I’m doing my best to bed your soulmate’ hardly seemed like an appropriate line to add in, but he was thinking it the whole time.

There’s a measure of guilt sitting inside him, but Emma walks through the door and starts to unbundle from the chilled weather, and he forgets the guilt as he looks at the floral blouse she’s wearing beneath her coat. She unwinds her scarf from around her neck and stashes her gloves in her pockets, leaving the red wool on but open so he can admire her outfit.

He smiles as she sits down across from him, and she smiles back, and he forgets that one of them should be speaking, lost as he is in the relaxed expression on her face.

“What can I can for you, dear?” Granny’s voice breaks through their staring contest, and Emma collects herself quickly to place her order.

“By the way,” Emma says after they’re alone again. “The phone interview with David went really well. Regina even seems to like him, as much as she ever likes anyone.”

“I’m glad to hear it. You’ll not find many others as altruistic as David and Snow. 

“I can’t believe her name is Snow,” Emma grumbles with a grin. He could hardly believe it, either, but the woman is as pure as the six inches that have fallen outside lately, so there’s no better title for her. “Regina thinks she might have a job opening for her at the school. One of our teachers is looking to retire soon and we’ll need a replacement.”

“That’s excellent news for both of them, then. I’m glad my work brought me up this way.”

“Me, too.” She’s quiet for a couple minutes, perfectly timed for the widow Lucas to place their meals down in front of them, but before either of them take a bite, her curiosity must get the better of her. “Did you ever find who you were looking for?”

It’s not a direct question for the name of the individual, so Killian finds it okay to let her know. “Aye, I did. But there were so many people looking for others that I decided to stick around longer.”

“Do you think you’ll stay?” She’s nervous when she asks, but he doesn’t know which way she wants him to answer. Emma has always seemed the type to not like attachments, hence her reason for avoiding all conversations about her own soulmate. But he’s truly screwed it all up if she wants him to stay.

“I don’t know yet,” he tells her. And it’s not really lying, because he finds the longer he’s in Storybrooke, the longer he wants to stay. He prefers this quiet life. He wants the ocean views and the ships and boats docked close. He wants people to know his name as he walks down the street. But this is not where he belongs. “My life and business are in Boston, and I need to be getting back there before the end of the year. But there’s always a chance I’ll be back.”

It must be what she’s looking for: maybe she needed someone who would be around but not constant, because there’s a shift in her mood as she digs into her grilled cheese sandwich, relaxing and flirting quietly as they eat.

They linger in their spots for a while, until the last patron has wandered out, and then he takes her hand over the table. Granny pretends she isn’t watching, but he can sense her approval from where she stands by the register. He’s not sure the older woman would be okay with Killian if she knew what he was really doing, but from outwardly appearances, he’s just a man flirting with the woman he’s become enamored with, which is entirely the truth. Has been since day one, really.

He’s playing with the ridges and dips of her knuckles while they continue to chat.

“Henry found something for you,” Emma tells him, her eyes lighting up with mischief as she looks unabashedly proud.

“Did he locate the card then?”

She nods in response. “He didn’t take it. Just copied down the name. When he stops in this week, he’ll tell you. I just remember his first name was Robin.”

“Excellent work. As soon as I have that, I’ll start a search for him. Hopefully I’ll have news for you sooner, rather than later.”

“If you want, I can pay –“

He doesn’t even let her finish the thought. “Nonsense, Swan. This is something I’m doing for you. For you _and_ Henry. Consider it a gift.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Then just say ‘thank you’ Emma. That’s all I ask in return.”

She murmurs her thanks, looking down at her empty plate while she tries to hide her very pleased smile. “You done working for the night?” she asks, and while her voice is trying to be light, he can hear the underlying addition to her voice: lust. Plain and simple. Lust and want and all of his wildest dreams being fulfilled; that’s what her voice sounds like.

“Aye. Would you care to walk an old soul back to his room, love?”

There’s no real reason to speak as if someone might overhear what they’re both thinking; the diner is empty this late at night and the proprietress retreated to the kitchen a few minutes ago with a tray full of dirty dishes.

“Sure,” she responds. He drops more than enough for their dinners on the table, which he’s sure Granny will be happy about when she returns. He’s not entirely sure that her absence was a matter of happenstance, but he’s grateful.

They walk through the back of the diner and up the stairs to where his quaint room is located. Even as he tucks his notebook beneath one arm and unlocks the door, Emma remains a safe distance away. He turns the knob and swings the door open, wordlessly inviting her to join him.

There’s a pink tint to her cheeks as she passes by him, and he draws out the act of closing and latching the door behind him to collect himself. When there’s a telltale rustle of fabric, he turns around to find her coat and scarf thrown over the armchair in the corner of the room. She bends at the waist to unzip her boots, shooting him a look over her shoulder. If she was trying to make sure he was looking, an alien invasion wouldn’t tear his gaze away at this point.

He places his notebook on the nightstand, leaving his glasses on top of it. While he’d love to read the fine print on Emma’s skin, he’s fairly certain he’d also be able to read the warnings about how this is the worst idea he’s had since taking the bloody job. When he rounds the bedpost again, she’s moving towards him, her hands playing with the hem of her blouse and giving him little glimpses of her skin as she pulls it a little higher, inch by inch. Before he can handle seeing this woman in her natural glory, he needs to kiss her.

She meets him halfway, pushing up onto her toes a little to compensate for their height difference and allowing her lips to linger on his. The press is simple and sweet; it’s a delicate first kiss. They pull away to look at each other once more, and he smiles before diving back in. What began as gentle quickly spirals into something desperate and hungry.

“You know,” she slips out between kisses, “that this is a one-time thing, right?”

He nips his way down her neck, yanking her shirt away from her shoulder so he can drag his teeth teasingly over the soft skin there. “Absolutely, one time, got it,” he mumbles out, making his way back to her lips to explore the way her tongue meets his.

Emma takes her time removing her blouse, revealing the white bra with lace trim that he could just barely make out for the last couple hours. She reaches around to unhook the undergarment as Killian takes his time to draw the straps down, licking his lips and appreciating every inch of new flesh he gets a peek of. The light is too low for many details, so for what he lacks in vision he makes up for with touch. Her breasts are of perfect weight and size in his hands, and he spends a few moments mapping them before working at the enclosure to her jeans.

If the bra signified some type of faux virginal purity, her panties give the opposite vibe. They’re black, pure lace, with a thong-style cut so he encounters more of her glorious skin when he runs his hands down and over her backside.

Her hands suddenly get less docile and more needy, pulling anxiously at the buttons on his shirt until he finally just pulls the entire thing over his head. There’s an awkward pause for both of them as they struggle to get out of their jeans. It’s understandable when hers are practically a second skin on her body and his are far too tight from watching her. Finally getting rid of the last barriers standing between them and nothing but each other’s skin, they meet up again at the foot of the bed.

The sudden urge to taste her skin flashes through him, and he’s gently guiding her onto the bed with her legs hanging over the side before he lets his mouth wander where he pleases. The spot beneath her navel causes her to suck in her breath, but it’s not laughter that follows but a broken moan. He files away that bit of information, spending another moment to flick his tongue over that patch of skin before he continues downward.

If there’s a paradise, he finds it between her legs. Immediately upon contact, Emma throws one of her legs over his shoulder, bringing him closer with the pressure of her heel on his back.

He’s captivated by the undulations of her body – the arching of her back, the lifting of her hips, the rise and fall of her breasts. With her head turned to the side, she takes her pleasure wantonly from his mouth. And he’s helpless to the sight. He groans against her, causing her to gasp in obvious pleasure. He does it again, just to hear her sigh out a moan as her hands travel to anchor in his hair.

His name falls from her lips as she rides out her orgasm, and he can feel the self-satisfied smirk on his mouth as he makes his way back up her body. While she catches her breath, he spends an extra minute with the delicate skin on her collarbones, careful not to leave any marks where Henry might question.

The rest of their experience is a rush to completion. It’s much more about satisfying the urges they’ve been harboring for many weeks, the ones that they’ve especially cultivated over the last few days. It’s about sex, plain and simple, as he places one of her ankles on his shoulder and drives into her. It’s about carnal pleasure as she rolls him to his back and rides him to a mutual orgasm.

As he sinks into sleep, he wonders if she’ll leave him. After all, it’s only meant to be a release of passion and a common attraction. Staying would be something reserved, possibly, for lingering affections. He doesn’t ask, though, just absently hugs her close and sighs out her name as he drifts off.

He wakes up to the sight of Emma, or rather, her back; she’s turned away from him on the bed, her hair spilling over the pillow and the long, uninterrupted lines of her back on display. He takes a few minutes to chart the smattering of beauty marks along her skin, thinking maybe this will be a pleasant memory to think of when he returns to the city and his otherwise lonely life.

She rolls over while he’s mid-thought, and the blankets stay around her waist, leaving her breasts exposed and her nipples taut in the morning chill of the room. This, well, this is definitely a happy memory he will relive over and over again. There are more beauty marks here, freckles and such that he memorizes the best he can. He reaches out and smooths his palm over her stomach, enjoying the cool warmth that comes with the perfect temperature and the right state of nudity.

Emma is perfect, even with every bruise and scar. Even with her head tilted just a little too far back and a slight snore emanating from her mouth. Even with, and then he sees it, the small wolf’s head mark on her ribs. Seeing the mark is its own wake-up call. Bloody hell, but he’s just slept with his client’s soulmate. Fucked her into the mattress and begged her to fuck him into it in return.

He starts to take his hand away but Emma’s hand stops him. Her eyes are barely open, but there’s a smile on her lips and he’s powerless to stop himself from returning it.

“I thought you’d take your leave after I fell asleep,” he admits.

“The idea of leaving this warm bed for my cold and empty one at home just didn’t seem good enough,” she tells him. She’s mumbling something about one-time things and reaching for his hardening cock with her free hand when she pushes his hand to her sex.

“But if we never left the room, it’s still the first time, yeah?”

“Seems logical to me,” she says, grinning wide before she rolls towards him and kisses him hard.

It’s as if his revelation never existed, especially when he rolls and settles between her legs. When wetness greets his exploring fingers, he knows it won’t take long to bring her over the edge, and gets to work on that before allowing himself any pleasure.

He slides into her just as the aftershocks of her first orgasm are settling, so he still gets to feel the clenching of her muscles around him, going slow to maximize the feeling for both of them. If the way she moans his name is any indication, she appreciates the gesture.

A man with morals might never have found himself in this position. Killian discovers as she calls his name that he has no morals, especially as his eyes land on Graham’s mark. He thrusts deep, his blood surging through his veins as she calls his name and tells him to go harder. He has no morals, at all, apparently.

Killian thinks that maybe this is it, and it’ll be out of their systems as he rests his forehead between Emma’s breasts as they catch their breath. But when she calls him later that night and explains that Henry decided to have a sleepover at one of his classmate’s houses, he finds himself navigating the slushy roads of Storybrooke to pull up outside of Emma’s house. If it’s possible to have a negative amount of morals, Killian thinks as Emma straddles him on the stairs, then he’s definitely somewhere below zero now.

-x-

He left Boston with the idea of being gone for a week, maybe two at the top end of things. It’s been a month and a half since he left his office under the care of his only other detective who is also his receptionist.

It’s now been a solid week of sleeping with Emma, and he’s pretty sure they’ve been together on every surface of his lodgings, and a fair amount of the ones at her house. They stay away from any place Henry would normally spend time, as they both feel that’s the least they can do. The stairs were the one exception.

And even though Killian has never been so content in his life, he still feels the need to bring up her lack of interest in finding her soulmate one night. Maybe it’s because he knows she doesn’t belong to him, and the fight that this could cause just may be what drives him away from Emma. Heaven knows nothing else has, yet.

“I could find him for you, you know. Just so you could know he’s out there.”

“Why would I want you to do that?” she asks harshly, pulling the sash of her robe tight as she leaves her bedroom. He doesn’t bother to get dressed, just follows after her down the stairs and to the waiting darkness of the kitchen. She only clicks on the light above the sink as she fills a glass with water.

“I don’t know, Swan, most people are happy when they know that someone out there is designed to love them.”

“Oh yeah? And what about you? Where’s your soul mate? Why haven’t you tracked them down?”

“She's dead. Died years ago, actually, shortly after we found each other. I do this job in her memory.”

“Killian, I - shit. I'm sorry.” The glass connects harshly as she sets it down on the counter, still half full.

“No worries, Swan. It's almost better, knowing what I should've had is gone instead of out there with someone else.”

She doesn't respond to his goading, instead fixing him with a look as she loosens the tie hiding her skin from his eyes. “Wanna take your mind off of it?” She asks, her voice dipping low as she reaches for him.

He shouldn't. He's falling in love with her. Not real love, not soulmate love, not the love that Graham Bloody Humbert would feel if he got to see her like this. But fuck, is it love. He's powerless to stop himself from grabbing her like a lifeline, bypassing her lips and dipping his head to bury his face between those perfect breasts before he drops to his knees before her.

“We’ll take both our minds off it, love,” he tells her, finding his solace between her legs.

He allows himself one more week of this. One more week of perfection before he does what he came here to do. That week cannot last long enough.

-x-

Alone in his room at the end of the week he’s promised himself, Killian sits and counts all the times he’s spent with Emma. It’s too many to actually hold a number, but he’s including everything, from the first meeting by the docks to the coffee date she and Henry joined him for just a few hours ago.

He’s just about done packing his bags. He’s waiting for an email back from Graham about settling his final bill, along with the faxed permission document to hand his file over to Emma. She’ll need to sign one, as well, in order for Graham to receive her file. It’s on his to-do list for the evening.

First, he wants to have just one last meal with her. She’s invited him over, with Henry going to Regina’s tonight. And she told him to come with an appetite. He doesn’t have one, not really, but he’ll fake his way through it all in order to finally do what he was supposed to weeks ago.

Predictably, she will hate him. He’s anticipating it. It’ll make it easier to move on once he’s gone home. He’ll have to reach out to his network of widows and failed cases, man or woman, in order to work his way through this. The growing pain in his chest is different than the one he felt after losing Milah. No more or less painful, but different in the aspect that he knew his soul was made for Milah, and she for his, and while her death was quick he at least got to hear her tell him she loved him one more time.

He will get no such admission from Emma tonight, and so he zips up his bag and leaves the key on the bed with a note to Granny. He not only informs her to charge the whole stay to his company credit card (which his email informs him has been fully funded, just as he’s writing the message), he also leaves behind a hefty cash tip for her. His own grandmothers, had he actually known either of them, would not have treated him as well as that woman has cared for him over the last seven weeks he lived in her bed & breakfast and diner.

After he stashes his bags away in his car, he stops through the diner to wish Granny goodnight, hoping she’ll understand his message and remember him by this goodbye. He makes sure to give her a peck on the cheek, flirting shamelessly all the way out the door with a to-go cup of hot chocolate in each hand.

There are many things he expects, with his stomach somewhere down by his feet and his throat closing up in anxiety. He anticipates Emma answering the door and giving him a kiss and taking one of the cups from him before leading him to the dinner table.

What he gets is Emma calling out for him to come in, and he balances the cups to open the door. The house is mostly dark, lit only by electric candles to guide him in. He makes sure to leave his boots and outerwear in their designated spots, shuffling to the open kitchen first and masking his confusion when he finds the room empty. His mouth waters at the smell coming from the oven, so he places the hot chocolates on the counter and goes in search of Emma.

The appetite he built for the food downstairs flees his body when he finds her. Her hair is twisted up into a delicate bun, leaving her neck and shoulders almost entirely exposed. The lingerie she’s wearing is a pale pink, and leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination as its sheer lace, but he finds himself just as aroused at seeing her in this as he is when she’s entirely nude. It might have something to do with the thought that she’s done all this, the set-up and presentation, just for him. Just for his eyes. And bloody hell is this night going to hurt when it’s all said and done.

For now, though, she leans back on her elbows, crossing her legs and beckoning him towards her, and he cannot resist.

Of all the things he expected, he did not anticipate that he and Emma would make love tonight, because that’s what they do over the next hour.

“Don’t worry,” she says to him as he places a knee onto the bed to hoist himself onto it. “Dinner is being kept warm in the oven and I promise it’ll still be edible if we take our time.”

“And I do intend to take my time, Emma.”

They both do, as she draws out the act of stripping him bare. The most he can manage is stripping the matching panties to the set off her body and flinging them somewhere across the room, and then he lets go of all control; he surrenders his heart to her, he surrenders his body to her, and he loves her over and over again.

His tension must show after they’ve cleaned themselves and redressed. He’s even gone so far as to put his socks back on while she’s opting for casual dress in a pair of yoga pants and a thermal top. When he’s unable to speak more than a few words at a time while they eat, she starts to fidget in her seat.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“Aye,” he answers honestly.

“Well, I’m glad I decided tonight was the one to bring out the good stuff,” she jokes, and he loves her all the more for trying to keep the mood so light.

He waits until after they’ve finished their meal, after they’ve reheated their hot chocolates and settled onto her couch to continue. Even then, he tries to keep his distance. If he truly believed she would physically hurt him then he would accept that punishment, but he knows his Swan. No, not _his_ Swan.

“There’s something else, love.”

“Could’ve guessed that with the way you look like you’re bracing for a firing squad.”

“The person I came here to find, I did locate the individual shortly after arriving in town.” He pauses for a reaction, but she just gives him a look. “I found her on the docks within minutes of driving into town.” That gets a bit more of a reaction, as her brows draw downward and she processes what he’s saying.

“You were looking for me.” He can see her chest moving a little faster as her breathing speeds up, no doubt her heartrate is matching pace. She slides to the other side of the couch, away from his reach, but he knows better than to extend a hand near her at this point.

“Aye. Unfortunately, I am really bloody good at my job, Emma.”

“Were you looking for yourself, or – “

“I was hired by your soulmate to find you.”

“And what, sleep with me? Fuck me? Make me fall…” She doesn’t complete the phrase, but he knows what she was going to say, and it hurts all that much more.

“No, love, that was not my intention. These last – you must know, Swan, that these last few weeks have shown me something I long forgot. I never thought I was capable of letting go of my first love, my soulmate, my Milah. That is, until I met you. And I know you aren’t mine, but I wanted to thank you.”

“What am I going to tell Henry?” she murmurs, the pain reflected in her eyes as she stares hard at the coffee table with her head in her hands.

“Tell him whatever you must. I hope you know I enjoyed every minute I spent with him, and he really is the smartest lad I’ve ever come across in my life.” He rubs his sweaty palms on his thighs before going to retrieve the necessary paperwork out of his coat. “There’s one more thing.”

She looks up at him then, the fury and hurt plain in her eyes as she scowls at him. “What is it.”

“This is Graham’s file. He faxed over the release form for it earlier today after our lunch. He wants you to know him, Emma. He wants to know you, too, but I am legally obligated to obtain a signature from you to release your file to him. Without your consent, this gets put into my records and will never see the light of day again.”

“You want me to – Killian, do you realize how fucking insane that sounds? After all of this? We just had sex an hour ago in my bed, and ate dinner together like this was a genuine date, and now you want me to sign some release form so someone I’ve never met before can have access to some creepy file you’ve got of all my hobbies and interests?”

“Believe me, love. I am well aware of how this looks and sounds,” he answers grimly.

“I am _not_ your love. I am not your anything, Killian. Get out.”

He doesn’t argue, just places the manila envelope with Graham’s information on the table, her own release form on top with all of the information on how to send back the completed form if she chooses. He doesn’t turn back after sliding his boots and coat on, nor does he steal one last glance when he opens her front door and walks out of her life.

With every step, he feels his heart crumble away, the last of his ability to love scattering like ashes on the chilled wind that ruffles at his hair and tinges his nose and ears pink.

If he’s diligent, he can make it back to Boston by dawn, and hopefully begin the healing process.

-x-

The year has turned without him noticing, all of the holidays meant to spend with those you love being spent, instead, with bottles upon bottles of rum and his empty apartment. He manages to secure several other high paying jobs. Every other week, Graham emails to ask if there’s been any update on whether or not Emma has given him a signed release, and every other week, Killian sends out his form-letter apology.

When January leaks into February, he’s shocked to find a fax waiting for him in his office when he stumbles in hungover. He gets as far as the name at the top, scanning to make sure the right places are signed and initialed before he files it away and readies the package in his records for delivery. The folder on Emma Swan is delivered to Graham Humbert just a week short of Valentine’s Day.

Without knowing exactly what transpired in Storybrooke, Graham sends him a delighted email upon receiving Emma’s file. He tells Killian all about their proposed meeting for the end of the month, how he’ll be traveling up to meet her and start the life he’s been waiting for.

The rest of Graham’s retainer fee is in his account a week later. He stares at all of the numbers with absolute disdain, knowing that there should never have been a price on Emma Swan’s head, and knowing exactly how much he’s been paid to hand her over stings worse than her command to get out of her house.

Killian never really saw himself going to Storybrooke again, but David and Snow invite him up over the same weekend that Graham is set to meet Emma. He tries to refuse, but they insist on having him up for a visit. They have all sorts of good news for him, apparently, and want to thank him again in person and host his visit for the weekend.

Even the drive up feels sullied, and he feels like he’s going to peel off his own skin by the time he passes by the sign that Emma told him she hit in her attempts to escape from Storybrooke after that first night she arrived. Now when he slows past the sign, he’s not feeling curiosity, but dread. He’s even borrowed Tink’s car for the trip, some zippy sedan with Connecticut plates just so no one will recognize his vehicle.

It works out that he has business of his own, because it means he doesn’t have to linger around town while the Nolans do their respective jobs. He heads straight for the Mayor’s office, introducing himself quite plainly and getting straight to the matter of her soulmate before she can say whatever quip must’ve been on the tip of her tongue after learning his name.

“I’ve located one Robin Locksley, Mayor Mills, and he’s expressed an interest in finding his soulmate. He’s told me of the crown that adorns his left collarbone, and I must say after meeting you that the symbol is quite fitting.”

“You’re quite the smooth talker. Then again, you must be if you got past Emma’s defenses.” He opens his mouth to object, but she holds up her hand. “Let’s move on. How did you know the name of my soulmate, Mr. Jones?”

“I do believe your clever son pilfered the name from the card you hide in that decorative box right there, madam Mayor.” He points out the box in question, and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline as she looks to it as well, and he knows that his information from Henry was quite accurate. He could hug the boy for being the best sidekick he’s ever had. The pang of loss over his young friend comes and goes without his face betraying a thing.

“Henry. Right. Well, I always just figured that… maybe I wasn’t meant to find love and happiness. I thought maybe mine was defective or something. It’s why I adopted Henry, thinking if I didn’t find this Robin, then having a child could ease some of that loneliness.”

“There’s something little known about soulmate marks,” he tells her plainly. He makes sure to roll up his sleeve and present the inside of his forearm to her. Barely visible is the heart and dagger that represented Milah’s mark on his skin. “When your mate dies, so does the mark. Had yours truly been defective, you wouldn’t have that lovely arrow gracing your skin.”

She looks like she wants to be more annoyed with him, but she rolls her eyes instead of gestures for him to have a seat in one of the chairs across from her desk. “Tell me how this will all work.”

By the time he makes it to the Nolans, they’re both home and acting out a beautiful display of domesticity. He’s reminded, while with them, that the bulk of his work is good. He does good things for people. Sure, he gets paid to do such things, but he brings together people that were meant for each other. This is evident in the way they seamlessly move around each other in the kitchen to prepare dinner, and Killian smiles at the frame on the wall that holds both of their soul cards and their engagement photos.

The cards are the biggest mystery in all of this, since no one really knows where they come from or how they work. People are born with their marks, but the cards just suddenly appear one day, as if they’ve always been amongst the possessions people gather and they just got shuffled to the side. But here are two, a matching set that showed up in the glove department of David Nolan’s car while another dropped from Snow’s pile of homework to be graded for the day.

His thoughts stray to Emma’s meeting with Graham, inevitably. Because of Graham’s almost diligent email updates, he knows that the man will be driving into town tomorrow and meeting Emma at Granny’s. He tries to decide whether he should be out of town by then, but there’s something pulling at him to stay. Not just in town for the extra bit, but to be there for it, as unobtrusively as possible.

The Nolans serve dessert as he’s gathering his thoughts and storing them away, and that’s when they give him every piece of news he’s been expecting. They’d gotten married only a short time after their connection, but were waiting to find the perfect home and life before trying to expand their family. Without Snow even saying the words, he can see the glow about her, and when she drops her hand to caress her stomach, he knows what’s coming next even as she tells him they’re expecting their first child.

He basks in the celebrations after that, reminding himself that they wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for his assignment to find Emma, and they wouldn’t be together if it weren’t for him. Despite all the bad he caused, something inherently good came from all of it.

Furthermore, he tries to resist going and watching the first meeting the next day, but he’s powerless to stop himself. He parks a safe distance away in the unfamiliar car and waits. His heart stops when he sees Emma pull up in her beloved old Volkwagen, and watches as she paces the walkway outside of the patio. She’s so nervous that he wants nothing more than to reassure her, and tell her that Graham is going to love her – love every part of her.

His heart remains in his throat as Graham pulls up and exits his vehicle, approaching Emma slowly with a bundle of flowers – forget-me-nots, her favorite, according to her file. He can see the tension around her eyes, and around her smile as she greets him. Their hug is stilted, but he must say something to make her laugh and he sees her begin to marginally relax. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back.

The passenger door swings open and he feels someone slide into the car before the door shuts, and he would be surprised, but he’s in far too much pain to even register the newcomer beyond a grunt.

“I always kinda hoped you were lying about your name,” Henry’s small voice says.

Killian swallows hard and opens his eyes, turning his head to look at the lad and his downtrodden expression. “What do you mean?”

“I thought maybe you were mom’s soulmate. That Killian Jones was some fancy secret name you took up so you could get close and reveal that you were her soulmate. Even though you didn’t really seem like a Graham, I always kinda hoped.”

Of course, Henry was the one to find Regina’s card, so he would obviously know about Emma’s as well. He wonders if the boy knew the other name from the very start, or if he found it once Killian told him who he was. It’s of no matter, now, but he’s incredibly proud of the young man that is so invested in the happiness of his mothers.

“Did she tell you what happened, then?”

Henry nods, and he’s glad Emma was honest with him, even if the boy looks like he’s just watched a puppy get kicked.

“I’m sorry you were hurt, too, Henry.”

“It’s okay, it’s not like you were really part of the family. But you felt like you could be.”

His words sting, even if they’re nothing but the truth.

“On a happier note, Operation Arrowhead has been completed.”

“Really?!” Henry’s whole demeanor brightens at the news. “You found mom’s soulmate?”

“Aye, I visited her yesterday to get the paperwork completed. She and Robin both have information about the other. I wish you all the luck with both of them. You give them hell, Henry. Got it?”

Henry smiles at him, a genuine one that reminds him so much of Emma that he sucks in a quick breath. “Got it!” he exclaims, and then he’s clamoring out of the car and waving goodbye, obviously off to catch up to his other mother before she notices he’s missing.

He’s not sure why, but Killian sticks around for the date to end. It takes over an hour for Graham and Emma to appear again, but they stop just outside the trellis that marks the opening of the patio, and Emma leans up and kisses Graham. It’s a quick thing, but they both blush and stammer and wave their goodbyes before heading to their separate vehicles.

If there is any part of his heart left intact, it’s officially shattered at watching their expressions as they leave. He’s already dreading the email updates he’ll get from Graham, not to mention the exit surveys he’ll have to send out and receive in order to officially close their cases. All in a day’s work for him, he supposes. But this is all quite enough now, and he finally lets himself free of the torture.

When the Storybrooke sign passes by and as it gradually fades from his rearview mirror, he doesn’t let himself look back.


	2. Why Can't Love Just Be Enough

If Killian expected his life to go back to normal once he left Storybrooke behind, he was completely mistaken. The world he goes back to in Boston feels hollow and lonely – now more than it ever was before. Maybe it’s because he was somehow lucky to find love once with his soulmate, and then again with someone who wasn’t his. And now he has neither. Maybe it’s because he also truly felt a bond with Henry, or because Storybrooke felt like home.

His business, small but with the most impressive track record ever seen in his line of work, expands after his time in Storybrooke. Apparently, with an even higher success rate, he’s a sought-out name in the soulmate searching ring.

Now he has more detectives working for him, and it means he can step back a little. The less personal involvement, the better. Sure, he still works. He has the keenest sense of direction out of all of his employees, except for a man named Smee, who is exceptionally talented at finding people in places he would’ve never considered. Most days, he stays in his (new and bigger) office and spends some time working on the cases he has been personally requested for. The rest of his day is spent looking at the evidence of his success.

One entire wall of his office might be windows, but another one is full of frames displaying happy couples. Some of his favorites are from his early days. Yes, he does have a picture of Milah’s ex-husband up there. He seems slightly less stern looking fondly at the woman he was destined to be with, a smart brunette named Belle who has dedicated her life to library sciences.

The Nolan wedding photo is up there, along with half of Storybrooke, it seems. They occupy their own column of pictures. Ruby and Dorothy smile back at him, along with Regina and Robin, who’ve just set their wedding date. Henry is in the picture with them, beaming from ear to ear, along with Robin’s young boy, Roland.

He has a warm expression for Granny and her new husband. Despite not being a soul match, she still credits his Cupid-like abilities for bringing her and Marco together.

His gaze lingers on the photos of the Storybrooke folk, anxious as he is about his journey back to the small town that unabashedly stole his whole heart. There’s a noticeable absence of one couple he matched from that area, and he still wonders what became of them. Shortly after Graham drove up to meet Emma, Killian sent out their exit surveys and never looked back. He put Tink in charge of all further communications, going so far as to route Graham’s emails to her account.

As if it’s difficult to find, Killian searches the wall until he finds the first picture at the top left corner: the one of him and Milah. He’s looked at that photograph countless times every single day since it was taken, but now more than ever he wishes he could seek her council. He wonders what Milah would think of him falling in love again. Of course, if she were here to ask, he wouldn’t have his business, and he never would’ve met Emma. Always with the double-edged swords in his life.

He's leaving in a few hours for the journey back to Maine, back to Storybrooke, and he’s terrified. He’ll be attending the christening and official naming party of the Nolan’s son, born just three weeks prior. The fact that he’s going back almost a year to the date of the first trip is not unnoticed.

What he does know of Emma’s present life could fit in a thimble. He knows David works with her often, as she still fulfills deputy roles from time to time. He gets an occasional email from Henry (written with Regina’s help and permission) that will just include the line “my moms are both doing fine” before he launches into what he’s recently learned in Mrs. Nolan’s classroom.

His room is already booked at Granny’s, and he leaves the office early, with Tink’s voice following him out the door to at least try to have a good time. He just waves to acknowledge he’s heard her, and keeps going.

The ride up is different, but beautiful in its own right. A cold front has blown in, leaving several inches of snow in its wake and covering the landscape in white. If he believed in signs anymore, he would say it’s a fresh start, with the snow acting as a blank canvas. Perhaps it’s time to make new memories associated with the small town. Or maybe it’s all just bollocks and he’ll be back in Boston in a few days with the same heavy weight on his shoulders.

He’s met at Granny’s with a warm hug from the proprietress. She pats his cheek in her matronly fashion, telling him he looks too pale, and resolving to fatten him up with whatever food she can whip up fast enough.

The whole place looks exactly the same, and he melts into the familiarity of the vinyl covered stool at the counter. When Granny comes back, it’s with his room key and gossip, filling him in on Ruby and Dorothy’s latest adventures.

“I have a young girl working here now, in both the diner and housekeeping. You fixed her up with her man last year and while they’re broke, they’re happy. You did a lot of fine work here, young man.”

He blushes at her kind words, the flush creeping up to his ears, and he thanks her for the high praise. While she fixes him a plate, he takes his bag up to his room and leaves his winter gear behind. Upon entering the diner again, he’s regaled with more town news, talk of the Mayor’s impending wedding along with the baby boy Snow and David just welcomed. Those two, it turned out, were a perfect match for this town after all.

“I always thought you were grooming yourself for Emma,” Granny tells him. It’s a little like ripping off the bandaid, because he never did find out what the town reaction was to his quick exit. “I never would’ve thought –“

Her words are quickly lost when a frigid blast of air follows in the flash of energy that runs straight into him.

“Killian!” In an instant, Henry is hugging him. The boy is turning too quickly into a young man, and he’s grown at least a foot since the last time Killian saw him. He talks even faster than he already did as well, which Killian didn’t know was possible. But he hangs on every word Henry shares with him, listening intently as he always did.

“You’re gonna meet Roland later,” Henry informs him, “and Robin. You’ll like them. Robin is a forest ranger, and he’s the leader of the cub scouts. He’s teaching me archery, but mom doesn’t know he’s using real arrows. Y’know, I never would’ve thought he was the perfect match for my mom. But she’s _really_ happy with him.”

Seeing the pictures is one thing, but hearing the absolute joy in Henry’s voice is a whole other matter. He grins, encouraging Henry to tell him more as he digs into his plate of lasagna. He feels like he hasn’t eaten real food in the months he’s been away. It’s all so comforting, so familiar, and the voice in the back of his head is once more telling him this is home, and he could’ve had this life.

And then the door opens, and it’s déjà vu.

“Henry, what did I tell you about talking to strangers?”

The same exasperation, laden with weary affection, causes the same speeding of his heart rate.

“It’s not a stranger, mom. It’s –“

“Killian,” she whispers when he turns to look at her. As with all his matches, he checks for rings on her fingers or a tell-tale baby bump, but she has neither. It’s surprising and curious.

She looks like she’s about to bolt, and she turns as if she’s going to but Henry jumps off his stool and pulls her over to join them. Her son all but pushes her onto the stool he’s been occupying, lingering for just a moment before claiming some unfinished business that sounds distinctly like a lie.

He’s gone in an instant, leaving Killian and Emma, side-by-side, in awkward silence. Granny gives them both a curious look as she places her usual order – grilled cheese and onion rings – in front of Emma, before she shuffles away to a distance that seems unobtrusive but where she can still eavesdrop.

Killian clears his throat, glancing at her and forgetting to look away again. “You look even lovelier than I remember, Swan.” He doesn’t mean to say it, has no right to, but as with all his interactions with Emma, he’s unable to control himself.

She’s bringing the smallest onion ring to her mouth when he speaks, and it drops back to her plate. She closes her eyes and furrows her brows at his words. Some kind of thanks are mumbled out before she tries to return to her lunch, but the same onion ring gets set back down as she abandons her food altogether in favor of turning towards him.

As he’s been unable to look away since what was supposed to be quick look, he’s staring right at her when she looks at him. So many emotions go through her eyes, but there’s one buried deep that he catches just a glimpse of, and it looks a lot like hope.

“Listen, can I talk to you for a minute? Is there somewhere we can go?”

Surprised, Killian can only nod and follow as Emma slides off her stool and heads to the back hallway.

“I would uh, I would invite you up to my room but that hardly feels appropriate.”

Emma snorts with a small laugh, shifting back and forth on her feet as she tries to gather her words.

“I have something to show you,” she tells him. Her eyes are guarded, but she’s suddenly lifting her shirt and he’s fussing for her to stop.

“Perhaps I should’ve suggested my room,” he mutters, catching the hem of her sweater and tugging it down forcefully, but Emma does laugh this time.

“Just trust me, okay?”

He lets go of the hem of her sweater and waits. She only lifts it high enough for him to see her ribs, to see the spot he remembers Graham’s mark residing, but now there’s a faint outline much like his own mark. Worry and dread war for his attention.

“Is Graham…?” The recollection of a heart condition comes back, but Emma shakes her head before he can finish the question.

“He’s fine,” she tells him, a small smirk on her face. “You told Regina that the only way a soul mark would disappear is if one half passed away.”

“Correct. I lost my mark after Milah passed away. I know many other widowers who’ve lost theirs.”

“It’s not the only way.”

His interest is piqued, but Emma spins on her heel and starts pacing. She’s quiet for a time, stopping occasionally to open her mouth as if to speak, before she closes it and starts walking again. There are hand gestures involved, sometimes, as if she’s trying to catch the words as they scramble about in her head. She stops at the opposite end of the hallway from him, facing away, her head tilted back so she’s gazing at the ceiling, looking for wisdom or strength or the place where the lightning might come through to strike him down (or so he supposes).

“I can’t count how many times I practiced this all in my head,” she says up to the tiles, the words almost groaned out. “I always thought the first words I would ever say to you again would be ‘fuck off’ or something along those lines.” She starts walking again after she’s said it, as if just getting out that much is allowing her to move freely again.

“You and me both, love,” he mutters, trying to balance her furious circuit by leaning against the wall.

“Graham came up and met me, and he was sweet. Probably everything I ever dreamed up when I still believed in the fairy tales that Henry reads. He would’ve bought me the world if I asked.” She reaches the end of the hall and starts coming back towards him.

“He visited one weekend when Henry had a school function, and he was so determined to be included in both our lives that he attended it with me. And there’s this little girl, Grace, in Henry’s class. Her father is a widower, like you. Just this lonely little hatter, and his only connection left in this world was his daughter. And then they met Graham.” She stops here, almost directly in front of him, with a smile on her face.

“I was so lost in my own confusion and anger, but I was still so – I still felt…” She struggles to find the words, instead letting the statement trail off in favor of telling the rest of the story. “Graham and I became friends, but there was no attachment. No passion. No great love. And when two soulmates meet and they aren’t in love with each other, when they’re in love with other people,” she practically whispers, looking anywhere but at Killian.

“One day, we both woke up and our marks were just gone.” Her voice is light and she starts her pacing again, passing close to Killian but not stopping this time. “So we stayed friends, and he and Jefferson started dating. And soon he was moving in with them. And I went back to just Henry and I. Regina had her own little family with Robin and Roland moving up here. And then when Henry was with them, David and Snow took me in. So I guess it wasn’t all bad. But I still hurt. Do you understand?”

She comes back to stand in front of him, this time within arm’s reach, her hand pressed over her heart with a sheen of tears in her eyes.

He has to clear his throat before he can find words, because he thinks he knows exactly what she’s saying, but all of a sudden, he’s afraid for a whole different reason than when he first started this trip. Because if he’s wrong…

“Killian.”

“Emma, please let me explain.”

“What is there to explain? You know, I told Graham everything, after we knew it wasn’t going to work out. He told me he wasn’t surprised. The file you handed him was so thorough that you included the way I eat my onion rings according to size, and my love of cinnamon in my hot chocolate.”

“He asked me to be as detailed as possible. Wanted to know everything he could.”

“And that included telling him that Henry wasn’t _bad_ at math, that he just gets bored with his multiplication tables? That he wants to be a writer? That an ideal gift when meeting him would be another book of fairy tales because those are his favorite?”

He can’t answer, can’t even look at her, so he just nods as he looks at the floor.

“Henry stopped me from burning the file. He came home the next day and found me still on the couch and asked where you were. And I don’t know if you’ve ever seen an eleven-year-old cry while also being angry that he was wrong, but it’s ugly.” Her wanderings bring her back, but she surprises him by leaning against the wall opposite from him. “He told me to open the file and give Graham a chance, because you once told him that soulmates are there so all the lonely people don’t have to be. He forgave you fast, because he knew how lonely you must be without yours anymore. And that lonely people make mistakes, kind of like the one I made with Neal.”

Killian laughs, but it comes out more as a choked sob. The lad always was way too smart for his own good. He rubs at his eyes to make sure the tears that are threatening to fall won’t make an appearance, and when he looks up, he sees Emma watching him closely.

“You highlighted things from Graham’s questionnaire and left notes in the margins on what he should work on when it was something I didn’t like.”

“I wanted to make sure he would love you right, Emma.”

“The way you did?”

The question floors him for a moment. Because she says it so matter-of-factly that it doesn’t feel like a monumental declaration, but just another utterance in her life.

“The way I still do,” he clarifies, even though his mind is reeling and he feels like he needs to sit down.

She lets out the breath she was holding while waiting for him to answer and steps closer.

“Why didn’t you call or text or visit after you found out Graham and I weren’t going to work out? He told me he sent you a message about the match failing.”

He’s bloody proud of Tink for holding that so close. “I didn’t know,” he tells her honestly. “I recused myself from the file after I sent out the exit surveys. Everything has been routed to Tink, and I’m guessing she moved it to the appropriate file. I wasn’t sure I could handle receiving a message –“

Emma chooses that moment to lean forward and kiss him, and his heart all but stutters to a stop at the contact. While the kiss is soft, Killian feels like he’s going to bruise her hips with the way he clutches them. It’s over just as quickly as it began, and then she’s resting against the opposite wall and giving him a steady look.

“One time thing,” she says, her breath stuttering when she inhales.

“Of course,” he murmurs, still stunned from the contact. “Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you.”

“Good,” she tells him.

“Where do we go from here?” he asks her, his voice a little broken but a lot hopeful.

“I’d like to know you without a standardized list of questions. Start over. Think you can handle that?”

“Aye, love. I think I can.”

She pushes away from the wall again, standing just the perfect distance away to extend her hand. “Hi. I’m Emma Swan, formerly known as case number 15-2754.”

“Killian Jones,” he says, reaching out and pulling her hand to brush his lips across her knuckles like when they first met. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”


End file.
